


Cold Weather Conundrum

by DecorDilemma



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Knitting, M/M, No Cybertronian Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecorDilemma/pseuds/DecorDilemma
Summary: Secret Solenoid gift for TheParallelWall.Dear customer #243,087,Your appointment for:Insulation replacementHas been moved to:Orn 13, Chord 72, Vorn 208 of Reign AmalgamousWe apologize for any inconvenience.Regards,Titan Frame Services
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65
Collections: Secret Solenoid '20-'21





	Cold Weather Conundrum

_Dear customer #243,087,_

_Your appointment for:_

_Insulation replacement_

_Has been moved to:_

_Orn 13, Chord 72, Vorn 208 of Reign Amalgamous_

_We apologize for any inconvenience._

_Regards,_

_Titan Frame Services_

The wind pushed inside Jazz’s chest seams and whistled past his spark shielding. This was the fifth time they had postponed the appointment.

He almost wanted to cancel it altogether and be done with it, but even the idea of spending the entire cold season inside four walls was enough to make his plating clamp down. Not that that helped with the wind chill, much.

Stepping out of the way of the passing shoppers, for a brief moment he considered walking the rest of the way to the shop to complain. Then he sighed and dropped the processing thread. It might have brought him some catharsis, but with his luck he would have just lost his place in the queue. As the next gust of wind pushed against his backstrut, he sent the message grudgingly on to Prowl and settled into the line for the transport tube home.

Sure, he had expected to experience some sort of a culture shock upon moving to Praxus. ‘The crystal buildings might take some getting used to,’ he had thought, ‘And what of the transport tubes, with their weird, automated walkways? Can I really cope without my daily drive?’ His systems tried to execute a smile at the thought and he quashed it; his facial hydraulics would no doubt protest any movement in this weather.

But no. None of that was an issue. Yeah, it was a pain having to order his iron flakes all the way over from Tetrahex, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. No. The single most perplexing thing was the endless organizational nightmare as he tried to set up a new life here. The bureaucratic obstacle course was bad enough to make even _Prowl_ sympathize with him. Prowl, who he may not have known for longer than four vorns, but who he was fairly sure had a passion for minutiae to rival the legendary general Ultra Magnus. And now he was living together with the data-analyst, and it—it worked. So he did _not_ want to mess it up because of a seasonal case of cabin fever.

He looked back at the neat shopping center with its glowing beryl façades. A worker was setting up lighting for the cold season at the corner of a café, and on the other side of the street a mentor explained something to a sparkling. There was even an entertainment troupe of some sort setting up for a show underneath an awning nearby. It was all so calm and normal.

But then there was the methanol fountain in the middle of the street, its flow beginning to freeze over. All the new arrivals may have been scrambling to get their insulation replaced or reinforced, but to the locals this was a normal part of life. Maybe it would soon be the same for him. And maybe he would also get used to the so-called customer service before dying of old age.

Indeed, if he had learned one thing in his one vorn here, it was that the famed Praxian efficiency was severely exaggerated—The only queues that ever seemed to move along were the ones for the transport tubes. Speaking of, it was almost his turn. Soon he would be safe from the glacial wind.

Despite functioning as decent windshields, the tubes sadly did not solve his freezing problem. At this point, were the shop to postpone his appointment one more time, he was certain he would fall into stasis on the way. The four-percent loss in fuel efficiency in the last deca-orn was proof enough. But solution or no, when the tube allowed him in and the escalator began its slow ascent, he rolled his shoulders in relief and felt his heating system struggle marginally less.

However, the only alternative for the insulation revamp that either he or Prowl had been able to think of was for him to spend the next four vorns inside. He would be bouncing off the walls in less than an orn, and without any way to get work done—the soundproofing was scheduled for once the temperatures rose again—and with only Prowl for company—much as he liked the mech—he’d rather spend the season in Polyhex.

…If the transports didn’t mysteriously shut down, too.

Alright, so maybe his thoughts were becoming slightly petty.

The frame shop had to be busy, what with all the new arrivals moving in at this time. Some configurations took longer to work on and that messed with the scheduling. He knew this, had even worked at a frame shop for a while as a youngling. And he _had_ signed on quite late.

Still, _five times?_

Now he was almost back at their home tower, and at this rate he would be bringing his bad mood in with him. He made a decision, waited until the escalator passed by an empty sightseeing platform, and stepped off. The round walls and the floor of the tube here consisted of a transparent crystal lattice, and now that he wasn’t moving, he could see the layers of the city spread out all around him. It was like floating in space.

As always, the lights of hundreds upon hundreds of buildings and mechs illuminated the roads, shops and homes in Hadeen’s fading light. Despite the cold, Jazz’s spark spun faster at the view.

An unidentifiable gas obscured a part of the lowest levels, but he could still make out the rush of life present everywhere. And when he looked up, he saw the crisscrossing rows of transport tubes and the undersides of the other layers reaching towards the sky. Zooming in as far as he could, he thought he could even make out the cross-Cybertronian highway, barely a thin line from this far down. Only a vorn here, and yet the cityscape had already stolen his spark. ...He probably shouldn't mention that bit to Prowl.

Back in Polyhex, the gases produced by the industrial furnaces in the underlayers had made it impossible to ever see further than a couple arm-lengths ahead, though the constant heat meant that insulation against the cold was never an issue. The chemical makeup of the Polyhexian atmosphere may have represented home for him, but he had to admit that he could do without the bi-vornly filter-changes. At least the Praxian insulation overhaul wouldn’t need a repeat for a few centuries.

Already feeling lighter, he spent a while longer looking for gift shops visible on the lower layers. Prowl’s creation date was set in the middle of the cold season and Jazz was determined to find the perfect gift in advance. Speaking of, he wondered how the mech had spent his free orn.

* * *

He pinged Prowl as soon as the door slid shut behind him, then took a moment to loosen his plating, section by thawing section. Hints of warmth seeped in and began to stabilize his systems.

“Here,” came the response to the ping, accompanied by an unfamiliar clinking noise. Jazz made himself move despite the lingering cold, past the kitchen to the living room, where he was faced with a curious sight.

The lights were on their warmest setting, something that Prowl judiciously avoided, and the mech himself was sitting on the sofa, his doorwings propped up against a pillow. No music was playing. Instead, the only noise came from the source of the clinking; A piece of cloth attached to a string attached to two sticks attached to Prowl’s servos, something that clearly held his full attention right now.

Jazz took a step closer and indeed, it looked like the cloth and string were the exact dark blue shade he used as his secondary color. A ball of that same material lay down on the floor, slowly rolling in place as Prowl pulled more string from it. It was like looking at a strange alien conveyor belt. Perhaps it was an art form?

“So. How was your orn?” he asked, aiming and failing to keep the confused note out of his tone. Prowl’s doorwings twitched in either amusement or annoyance. He could never tell.

“Your appointment was rescheduled again. I am taking precautions.”

“I see.” He did not.

The clinking continued.

The cloth grew layer by layer as Jazz stood in place, still thawing. The movement was as methodical as everything else Prowl did, only short pauses in between rows breaking up the alluring monotony of… of something.

Prowl stopped to adjust the sticks and glanced up. “There’s a cube for you by the dispenser.” The cloth had already grown by a digit-width.

“Ah, thanks.”

On his way to the kitchen, he searched through his internal library for the relevant activity. There was a match under the ‘Traditional Arts’ heading. Apparently, Prowl was doing something called ‘Knitting’. An old Iaconian art, it was nowadays mostly practiced as a form of meditation. Yes, it seemed like Prowl was knitting. As a precaution.

To add to his confusion, the cube of energon sitting on the kitchen countertop was oddly elaborate. Jazz picked it up, frowned, and took a slow, careful sip. And his vents almost choked in surprise.

Had Prowl spent the entire orn on this?! There were iron flakes and cadmium mixed in in the exact rations he preferred. The yellow tint at the bottom hinted to a carefully cultivated sulfur layer, and the energon itself had been whipped into a smooth foam. It must have taken joors to get right, and yet it was supposed to be Prowl’s free orn.

Jazz now had a nagging feeling about the knitting, too.

Trying not to feel guilty for his lack of appreciation, he finished the cube in a few quick gulps and returned to the living room to see Prowl finishing the piece of cloth.

“Sit down, I need to make sure this fits,” Prowl said and waved him over.

‘This’ looked like a small, knitted cube of some sort. “Sure.” The nagging feeling intensified.

Once they were at optic-level with each other, Prowl reached over to slot the cube onto his right sensor horn. “Run diagnostics for me, please.” Prowl held his EM field tight to his frame while he waited, his glyphs carefully neutral.

As soon as he ran a few simple programs on it, Jazz could tell that the cube had a muffling effect on his echolocation. It had no effect on the other sensors, however, so he could handle it, especially if he had guessed the item’s purpose right. He transmitted the results of the scans to Prowl and tested the give of the material with a servo, pushing softly into it with his digits. It was pliable and made of a series of smaller strands, and it had very low heat conductivity. Well, that confirmed it. He leaned into Prowl’s space and reached out with his own EM field, tugging at Prowl’s. “Lost hope in the frame shop already?”

Prowl’s wry smile was answer enough, as was the amused serenity in his field as it opened up. “Does it fit?”

Jazz tugged at the base of the cube and shrugged. “Feels a bit strange, and I’m not exactly familiar with external insulation, but it’s not uncomfortable.”

Prowl adjusted his position so he could run his own surface scan, then tilted his doorwings to indicate a- a question. Maybe. “Is it tight enough to stay in place?” he asked, and Jazz felt a bit of triumph at deciphering the gesture correctly.

He kept the smile off his face with some effort and handed the cube back over. “I guess so,” he said and relaxed into the cushions. They sat in silence for a while as Prowl started working on the other cube, until the memory of the fancy energon circled back up his priority tree. Yes, Prowl seemed content, but the mech had been downright impossible to read when they had first met, and he still had a bad habit of thinking of rest as an unnecessary indulgence. Steeling himself, Jazz pushed some concern into his field and said, “Thanks, really. I appreciate it.” Prowl tilted his doorwings in question again. Jazz looked away. “But I don’t want you to waste your entire orn on this.”

He turned his gaze back on Prowl just in time to see the pillow stop a guilty doorwing from sinking further down. Prowl frowned. “I cooked.” On any other mech, Jazz knew that those glyphs would have been accompanied by plating fluffing up.

“You cooked,” he echoed, his glyphs as flat as the Toraxxis Plains. Prowl _hated_ cooking. He hated it enough to have had it listed on his dating profile, for Primus’s sake. The mech had been living off of plain energon with rust shavings until Jazz had moved in, and he still had some enmity with the new dispenser Jazz had bought.

After a tense stare-off of exactly five nano-kliks, Prowl relented, his plating loosening. “The energon was meant to help with the post-operation ache. In hindsight…” He fell silent and looked at the knitted cube. Insulation layer. Whatever. Prowl sighed. “I was too optimistic about the appointment. I should have told you it wouldn’t happen.” Despite his glyphs, Prowl was smiling again as he turned to Jazz. “I blame your bad influence.”

Jazz flashed his visor in mock-disbelief. “I’ll have you know that I’m a great influence. And also,” he took a pause for dramatic effect, “You? Optimistic?” He poked Prowl in a shoulder guard. “Give me the numbers.”

Prowl tapped a rhythm on his left thigh, seemingly considering whether to provide an answer. Then he shook his helm, smirked, stood up and left the room, doorwings held high up all the way.

Well.

He heard the dispenser power up, followed by the tell-tale _whoosh_ of a cube being filled. It was visibly steaming still when Prowl returned with it.

He said nothing as he sat down on the sofa again, settling back in the same spot. He took a sip, then another, and sank into the cushions with a contented vent. Jazz sighed. “Just tell me.”

Prowl took another sip and shut off his optics. “I still need to make you another horn warmer, and at least a cape.” Jazz didn’t say anything more, and soon Prowl started angling himself sideways. The apartment was warm but Prowl’s frame was warmer, and Jazz could not help relaxing under the familiar weight as it settled against his side. Besides, it was useless to resist—the aft knew just what to do to melt his spark. Or his frame, as the case may have been.

Recharge began to pull him under, his strained systems demanding a break. With the last of his impressive willpower, Jazz gave Prowl an ultimatum. “Fine. But after this, I’m making you an oil bath, and you’re going to rest. The knitting can wait.”

“Alright.” He could not see Prowl’s expression like this, but Jazz could tell from his tone he was smirking.

Predictably, neither of them woke up for the rest of the orn.

* * *

He pulled Prowl towards one of the bigger crystals in the garden, their servos linked. The crystal was a beautiful dark green, its core shining bright in the artificial lighting from the floor. “How about this one?” he asked.

Prowl huffed as if the very idea was preposterous. “You must be joking. Labradorite grows far too quickly and needs constant maintenance.”

Despite the rejection, he nevertheless crouched down to check the plaque attached to the base of the crystal, pulling Jazz down along with him. “See. It needs to be fed thrice a deca-orn and the mineral solution has a non-existent error margin. Looking after it would be a full-time job.”

Jazz nodded. “You did say you wanted a challenge.” It was a gorgeous crystal. He almost wanted to take his horn warmers off for a moment to test its acoustics.

“And I need recharge to function.” Prowl stood back up, again forcing Jazz to follow—there were some unexpected issues with holding servos on a garden date. As he registered Prowl's glyphs, however, Jazz forgot all about the minor annoyance. They had had a talk about the subject of proper rest a vorn back, and ever since then Prowl had made sure to give himself enough time for it. It warmed his spark, truly, though Jazz had a hunch that his coming promotion would put him right back in square one. He deleted the processing thread. Better to focus on the now.

He pointed to the slightly smaller, light pink crystal next to the labradorite. “Then maybe a rose quartz? It’s simple, familiar and the acoustics are acceptable.” It didn’t make the _worst_ sound, at least.

Now it was Prowl’s turn to pull him along to go check the crystal’s plaque. They crouched down again, in better sync this time, and after a moment’s thought Prowl concluded, “Yes, this one would be manageable.” He squeezed Jazz’s servo, flicked a doorwing and added, “Though I may still need you to take care of the feeding whenever I work overtime. Is that alright?”

“Sure.” Why not. A rose quartz only needed to be fed when it began to lose its luster. It was one of the few types of crystals commonly grown everywhere on the planet for that exact reason. He wou-

[Alert: Core temperature increase 3%]

He dismissed the alert and lowered his internal heating by fifteen percent. Granted, he could have just left the cape and horn warmers back home, but Prowl had this subtle, happy glow about him whenever he wore them. It was worth the additional tweaking. Knitting the cape had taken Prowl nearly a deca-orn and Jazz had spent that time doing research of his own. He had learned many interesting things about the art form, but there was one in specific that had caught his optic. In Praxus, knitted items were a type of traditional gift for loved ones and represented a willingness for longtime commitment. Although they had lost their popularity as high-quality internal insulation had become affordable, they were still popular as sentimental gestures. As a result, Jazz had been slightly disappointed when he had finally gotten his insulation replaced on his seventh appointment.

…Maybe Prowl would make him a scarf for the next cold season, if he asked.

With gardening taking up so much of his time, though, the answer was probably going to be a no. As soon as Jazz had been able to move outside again without the fear of freezing into stasis, Prowl had begun taking him all around the crystal gardens. At first, Jazz had assumed it to be a series of dates—and in a way it had been—but it had turned out to have more to do with another unexpected hobby of Prowl’s. Choosing a new seed crystal was serious business, apparently. Jazz himself really only cared about the acoustic properties of crystals, but even he had to admit that Prowl’s well-hidden row of gardening trophies was rather impressive.

Prowl squeezed his servo, stopping his musing. “I think we’re done here. I have to order the seed crystals via datanet.”

Jazz squeezed back. “Are you sure you don’t want to look around some more?” If Prowl was done with the gardens, it was Jazz’s turn to choose the place of their next… eleven dates. Wow. They had explored eleven gardens within half a vorn. Jazz had expected to maybe make it to two in the first century.

Prowl smiled and shook his helm. “Isn’t that friend of yours holding a concert tonight?”

Oh. Yeah. “Blaster?” He checked the schedule. “It starts at joor forty-three. Yeah, guess we should head back.” He honestly wouldn't have minded staying longer. The gardens were beautiful and well-curated, with a lot of love and artistic vision poured into them.

It was quiet as they walked to the exit, the touch of their servos transmitting EM data between them, keeping their emotions in step with each other. When they reached the gate, however, Prowl glanced up at one of the crystalline mirrors framing it and stopped with no warning. “There is a tear in your cape.”

Oh, no. “Wait, really?” Jazz strained to look around, but could not see anything.

Prowl lifted the cape edge, and there was indeed a small hole in the fabric near the bottom. How long had it been there? And how hadn’t he noticed?

Prowl seemed to read his thoughts as he examined the damage. “It must have caught on one of the fence posts when we came in. It's torn through dozens of threads.” He didn't sound too upset, but it was clear this close that Prowl wasn't too happy about it, either.

Jazz scratched at the base of a sensor horn as he searched through his memory files. Prowl was right, he _had_ felt a slight tug back then, but had been too invested in their conversation to pay mind to it. He sighed. “I’m sorry.” He really liked the cape. Maybe it could be fixed?

Prowl shrugged with his doorwings. “It's fine. I find knitting relaxing.” That was a no. He would have to find a way to make it up to him. Well, it was still a vorn until Prowl's creation date, so maybe he could find a second gift in that time. And even if not, the tactics simulator he had already bought had several add-ons available. He could always buy one of those in an emergency. 

As they started walking again, Jazz searched for a distraction. Prowl felt fine, but he wanted to boost that glow back up. Maybe hobbies? Hobbies other than knitting.

“Hmm, do you like racing?” Something personal was a good start, and racing was what Jazz did when he needed a break from music. It wasn’t a hugely popular sport outside of the Polyhex-Tetrahex region, but there was always a chance Prowl was into it. He did have a suitable altmode, after all.

Prowl shook his helm. “I used to, back in training, though even then I preferred long-distance driving. Now I rarely have enough energy after work.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Jazz quietly erased ‘go racing’ from their date plans. Maybe he should try finding a knitting class instead.

While he tried to find something else to say, though, Prowl added, voice quiet, “But I do like camping. I rarely have the opportunity, but it is the reason why I originally took up knitting.” His tone would have qualified as perfectly neutral from any other mech, but coming from Prowl it sounded like he was disclosing some great secret. 

“Oh?” Camping was something he had heard of, but the wilderness around Polyhex was far too dangerous to explore alone. Only warframes had the necessary equipment to withstand everything from the acid rains to enraged herds of sheepacrons. But if Prowl had a way...

Something must have shown on his face because Prowl chuckled. “There is a crystal forest on the northern bank of the Rust Sea, but the winds render internal insulation insufficient. It is, however, a great place to find rare crystal varieties, and quite a popular destination.” Jazz could have sworn Prowl’s optics shone brighter at the thought.

“And so… Knitted garments?” He asked carefully.

Prowl shrugged again and looked away. “As long as the cloth forms a solid layer, it works. I’ve gone twice, and everything turned out fine both times, but I admit I would prefer to have company. There are some large mechanimals that live there, and they can be aggressive. So I... I would enjoy it if you came along.” He waited a vent cycle before adding, “If you are interested, that is.”

Jazz looked at his cape, fluttering calmly in the wind. An adventure, out in the wilds with no one but Prowl for company. Maybe he would even get to see a sheepacron. “Yeah, I think I am.” He raised up a digit to stop Prowl from saying anything more, “On one condition.”

And yeah, Prowl’s optics were definitely shining brighter now. “Yes?”

“You teach me to knit, too.”

And then he could make Prowl a scarf.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write, and it was honestly difficult to choose between the prompts. :D  
> I decided to go with a pair of very young Jazz and Prowl who've barely started learning to live together as a couple, on a peaceful, ultimately safe Cybertron. They met through a dating app the equivalent of a couple months ago and decided to go for it, with Jazz as the driving force behind that decision.  
> I hope that came through in the writing, and above all, I hope the giftee likes it~
> 
> PS. No, sheepacrons are not dangerous. Jazz is in for quite a learning experience.


End file.
